


Selfish

by CharcoalHeart



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a sad ending, Artist!Naruto, Artist!Shikamaru, Hinted Hinata/Shikamaru, I might rewrite the ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Really selfish Shikamaru, Sasuke also makes a very brief appearance, Shikamaru's kind of an ass in this one, and manipulative, but also kind of sexy, but they do end up going on a mini coffee date, mostly as a classmate though, protective Neji, smitten Naruto, soooooo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-30 00:03:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8511055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharcoalHeart/pseuds/CharcoalHeart
Summary: "To be an artist is to be selfish. That means pushing away everyone you love," Shikamaru tells me, "But I don't want to push you away. I want to do what I love and love you too."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey! So here's another work that's being cross-posted from FF.net, except with extra goodie bits. But we don't get there until at least the end of chapter 2. So...enjoy!

I squint and cover my eyes as I look up at the sky.  It is a little past three o’clock in the afternoon, and the sun is shining brightly against a clear, blue canvas.  I had just exited the arts building and just spent the last five hours in my studio art class.

“Ah, I’m hungry,” I muse to myself as I put a paint-covered hand over my stomach as it growls.

I shift the messenger bag slung over my shoulder and head towards the dining hall.  But instead of heading straight inside, I walk around to the side of the building and pull out a pack of cigarettes from my back pocket.

“Hey, mind spotting me one?”

I recognize the guy who asks to bum a cigarette from me.  He is from my studio class, but as far as I know, this guy was never intent on creating art.  The few times I’ve looked over at his station, seldom was there any real work going on.  He always claimed to be “gathering inspiration” during class.

I don’t really know him, but I reluctantly stretch out my hand and let the guy grab a stick.  I pull out a lighter from my jeans pocket and light up my “guest’s” before firing up my own.  After stashing the plastic lighter and cigarette pack back into my bag, I lean up against the wall and inhale through the cigarette deeply, giving little regard to the other guy.

“Thanks,” the guy says to me as he leans against the wall as well, “I just finished my last one during studio.  You’re in my class, right?”

I nod and respond, “I’m Naruto, by the way.”

“Shikamaru.”

The introduction is informal, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.  Shaking hands would be weird and unsanitary, anyway, seeing as how my hands are covered in possibly toxic materials.

I continue to smoke through the cigarette and take in steady inhales until I finish it.  This smoke session leaves my mind blank, void of any external thoughts.  I throw down the butt and snuff it with the toe of my shoe.  I put my hands in my pockets and look over to Shikamaru, who also throws down his own cigarette remnant.

“Thanks again,” he says to me as he walks off, “I’ll be sure to owe you one next time.”

Though I am sure he probably won’t keep to his word, I nod.  It’s the thought that counts, after all.

He heads into the dining hall, but I feel strange following him into the building.  Instead, I decide to take a nice, long lunch at the local noodle shop before my art history class.

oooOOooo

I’m late for class because my lunch break ended up lasting a little longer than I planned.

I walk into the small lecture room and groan quietly; all of the seats in the front are taken.  The only seats left are situated in the very back row, which has only one person.  To my displeasure, I shimmy down the last row and sit down a seat away from the other person.

“Didn’t know you were in this class too.”

I look over and realize the person sitting in my row is actually Shikamaru.  He doesn’t give away any particular expression on his face, but I can tell that he is amused at the coincidence of the situation by the way he lifts an eyebrow at me.

“Small world,” I respond as I shrug.

Shikamaru lets out a low chuckle and looks forward at the projection screen, as do I.  Our male, brunette professor stands up front and talks about the painting on the screen.

“In many of his paintings, Cezanne played with perspectives and brush strokes.  This particular work, called _The Basket of Apples_ , demonstrates his experimentation of visual perception...”

It’s difficult to pay much attention, especially since I am sitting in the back.  The numerous silhouettes of heads block my view from seeing the screen properly.  I sigh and don’t even bother to take my notebook out from my bag.  Instead, I pull out a sheet of paper and begin doodling all over the small, blank space.

Shikamaru looks over at me -- I can see him from the corner of my eye -- and takes out a piece of paper as well.  He starts sketching something, but I’m not sure what.  I can see the fluidity and swiftness of his hand as it flies across the paper, the pencil in his hand embedding its graphite onto the page.

I go back to doodling on my paper, trying to pay as little attention as I can to the action going on next to me.

Before I know it, class ends, and unlike the other times in class, I pack my things and hurry out of the room.  Normally I would stay behind and chat with my professor, but this time, I don’t feel right talking to him when I was not paying attention to his lecture.

“Hey Naruto,” Shikamaru calls after me as he leaves the room as well, “I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to study together for the next quiz, since we didn’t actually pay attention during class.”

I am thoroughly surprised that he asks me this.  I don’t know anything about his studying habits, but I find myself not entirely rejecting the idea.  I shift my bag on my shoulder and shrug.

“Sure.  Do you want to study now or later?”

Shikamaru looks up, as if to look back towards his brain for the proper answer.  He hums a few bars of a song I recognize, then shrugs.

“If you’re free, we can start studying today.  Are you living on-campus?”

I nod.  He looks up again and purses his lips.  Then he returns his gaze to me.

“I live off-campus, in an apartment by myself.  We’ll have plenty of room to study, if you want to go there.  And if you’re comfortable enough to follow some guy you just met back to his place.”

I roll my eyes.  His _concern_ is rather endearing, but I shake my head in incredulity.

“I’m a big boy.  I think I can handle myself.  Let’s go to your place.”

oooOOooo

I look around Shikamaru’s place in wonder.  How is he able to pay for all this?  How could he afford a place like this in the first place?

My shoes are off and I’m standing in the living room, my toes wiggling and appreciating the plushness of the cream-colored carpet underneath.  I sit down on the couch and realize it does wonders for the tense muscles in my body.  I relax and allow myself to sink into the cushions.

Shikamaru comes out of his bedroom.  He goes into the kitchen and calls out to me.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water would be good.”

I wait a few moments before he comes out with a bottle of water.  I take it graciously and uncap it before taking a large gulp of it.  Shikamaru watches me drink and doesn’t move from his spot.  As I remove the bottle from my lips, he shakes himself out of his trance.

“So,” I begin, breaking the discomforting silence, “you have a really nice place.”

Shikamaru shrugs and takes a sip from his own water bottle -- it’s my turn to stare.  He swallows the mouthful of water and swipes his tongue over his lips.

“I don’t really care for the decoration, but there’s plenty of room in the studio.”

I look at him curiously and ask, “Studio?  Can I take a look?”

The hesitance is clear on his face.  He presses his lips into a thin line and takes yet another sip of water.

“Maybe next time.  Let’s get started with studying.”

His hesitance gets my attention.  And though I let him go for now, I make it a mission for myself to have a look in that studio at some point.

oooOOooo

I turn my head to the left and see that Shikamaru is absent from studio.  His station is completely empty, and his supplies are nowhere to be seen.  I then remember that he never does any work during class, so it would be strange to see anything laid out.

I turn away from the distraction and stare at the canvas before me.

It stares right back at me, the white expanse mocking me.  The blankness irritates me, so I dip a fat brush into my red oil paint before smearing it across the canvas.  I sigh, the presence of color calming my nerves.

I start working on the canvas slowly, thanking the heavens for the invention of oil paints.  They dry relatively slower in comparison to water-based paints, so they are more patient with the artist.

The studio door opens and my eyes shift over.  It is just our professor, who is usually late to our studio class.  I look back at my work and sigh.

I realize that I am much more aware of my surroundings.  It is all Shikamaru’s fault.  I feel slightly pathetic for blaming it all on a guy I met recently.  All the same, his lack of presence makes me a bit anxious, and I scold myself for becoming school-girly about a _man_.

The preoccupation of my mind becomes all-too-obvious in my painting.  The aggressive, hot colors on the canvas blend and meld together into a huge mess.  The smell of the oil paint is getting to me, and I feel myself getting dizzy from inhaling the fumes.

I nod to my professor as I walk out, excusing myself to leave the room.  As I walk down the hall towards the front door, Shikamaru turns the corner and his eyes widen at the sight of me.  We both slow our paces and stop a few feet from each other.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hey,” I reply.

“Taking a break?” he asks me simply.

“Yeah,” I reply as I pull my cigarette pack out of my pocket, “I was going to take a smoke, actually.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Only if you have your own cigs this time,” I say as I move past him.

The other male chuckles and follows after me.  I assume he has his own cigarette pack this time.

We go outside and make sure to stay away from the front door.  People always complain about the smoke.

Shikamaru flips his cigarette pack open and offers one to me.

“For the one I owe you,” he says simply as he removes a cigarette for himself.

I look into his pack and see there is only one cigarette left.

“Thanks, but I can’t take your last stick,” I say to him.

I want to explain to him that it’s the lucky stick, the last one in the cigarette pack.  But I’m sure he’s aware of the ritual; the cigarette is turned upside down, with the brown filter sitting at the bottom of the carton.

Shikamaru rolls his eyes.  “If I didn’t want you taking it, I wouldn’t have offered it to you.  Do you really believe in that ‘lucky cigarette’ bullshit?”

I shrug.  “I can’t say I actually believe it.”

He gives me a look and I feel wrong refusing the cigarette now.  Instead of thinking how wrong it is to take someone’s lucky stick, I think of how credible Shikamaru is for sticking to his word.

Shikamaru lights up my cigarette for me and I take in a breath from my stick.  The smoke is much different than the brand that I use, but it has a pleasant lingering taste each time I inhale.  I clear my mind and almost forget that my mind was ever occupied by any solid thought.

I pause in my smoking for a moment, pinching the cigarette lazily between my fingers.

“Are you always this late for studio?”

Shikamaru removes his cigarette from his mouth, grins, and looks down at the ground as he rubs a hand on his neck.  He looks ashamed, but I sense that he isn’t really.

“I don’t usually do anything during studio anyway.”

“So what’s the point of coming to class?”

“I think.”

I stare at him in curiosity.

“For all those hours?” I ask him.

He turns to me and replies, “I work only when I’m in my own studio, but I get inspiration from being around people.  Is that wrong?”

I look down at my cigarette and let it drop to the ground.  Crushing it with my shoe, I exhale my last breath of smoke and put my hands in my pockets.

“Of course not.  It’s just an interesting way of using your studio time, that’s all.”

Shikamaru takes another inhale of his cigarette and gives me no reply.  I plan to go back inside and take one last, large stretch of my entire body before I retreat.  It feels refreshing, and I feel ready to tackle my canvas once again.

“You coming in?” I ask Shikamaru, who is still smoking his cigarette.

“Nah,” he says, “I think I’m going to go back to my place and work in the studio.”

I mean to ask him why he drove all the way to class, to not even end up going to class.  But I hold my tongue and watch Shikamaru leave, who is still smoking his cigarette.

oooOOooo

“Hey Shikamaru, are you uncomfortable with showing off your art?” I ask him as I sit back on his couch.

Shikamaru is looking at his notes, which are sprawled all over the coffee table between us.  His eyebrows furrow and he looks closer at the paper printout of Sisley’s _Under the Bridge at Hampton Court_.  He stares at the artwork for a bit longer before his eyes meet mine.

“Not particularly.  Why?”

“Well,” I say as I shift in my seat to sit up, “I feel like you are, subconsciously.”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“What would make you think I’m shy about my art?”

“Because you won’t invite me into your studio.”

“That’s ridiculous.  I’m not fucking shy about my art.”

“Then let me see your studio.”

There’s a chance I have completely ticked him off.  But with the shroud of mystery this guy has, it’s hard not to prod him when I can.  He gives me a strange look, almost as if I had just punched him in the gut.

I almost think that he will refuse again.  But surprisingly enough, he gives me his signature nonchalant shrug.

“I guess.  I haven’t gotten around to cleaning it up though.”

I snort as I stand up from the couch, “I don’t think studios are meant to be clean.”

Shikamaru grins and leads me out of the living room, past the kitchen, into the hall.  We pass by a door on the right -- the bathroom -- and a door on the left -- his bedroom.

At the very end of the hall, there is a frosted glass door.  He pushes it open and we step inside.  I stare wide-eyed and look all around the studio.

The walls are covered in random sketch papers, filled with lifelike sketches in all kinds of medium.  There is a large table in the middle of the room, part of it lifted and propped up like a large easel.  The piece of paper on the angled table has a large sketch on it, with very crude details and outlines of a man.

“Wow.  No wonder you’re studying art,” I say lowly.

Shikamaru shrugs and walks over to a particularly detailed sketch of a naked woman.  He rips it off the wall and reveals another sketch of another woman underneath it.

I yell out to him, “Hey, what’s the big idea?  That one was good!”

He puts down his water bottle on the table and huffs, “It’s just a sketch.”

I walk over and pull the crudely ripped paper from his hands, analyzing the sketch in great detail.  The lines are done in pencil, in an almost _careful_ manner.

“It’s just a sketch?  This is almost...lifelike!  Do you not realize how good this is? at all?”

His frustration is clearly present as he huffs again, “It’s just a fucking sketch, not the finished product, so stop nagging me.  You sound like my mother.”

He wrinkles his nose at the thought and turns his back to me to tear down some more sketches.  I watch in disbelief as Shikamaru moves around his room, taking down seemingly arbitrary pieces of paper.

I still have the sketch of the naked woman in my hands.  I glance down at it and then up at Shikamaru.

“If they’re just sketches, then can I keep this one?”

Shikamaru spins around so fast I nearly jump back from being startled.  His eyes narrow, and he turns back around, standing still.

“You can have it, but don’t go framing it or anything.  It’s just a sketch.”

I smile and hold on to the fragile sketch paper.  I let Shikamaru continue his “cleaning” and stare at the revealed sketches as he pulls off the top ones.  I notice that he has multiple sketches of different people, each in entirely different poses, clothed and unclothed.

“You had a lot of people pose for you,” I observe.

“Yeah.  Slept with most of them too.”

I remain silent.  Shikamaru turns around to face me again and grins.

“I’m half-kidding.  I’ve slept with only a handful of them, actually.   _Men and women_.”

I wait for Shikamaru to tell me that’s he’s kidding again, but I get no further response.

oooOOooo


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shikamaru gets a little frisky in this chapter, but nothing crazy... yet.

I unroll the sketch that Shikamaru allowed me to keep and stare at it.  The naked woman is actually very attractive, if not sexy; she is lying down and her eyes are half-lidded as her long hair spills all around her.  She isn’t the skinniest female I’ve seen, but her soft curves are alluring and somewhat cute.

“What is that?”

I turn and see it’s my roommate, Neji Hyuuga.  I look back down at the sketch that’s on my desk and look back to him.  To my surprise, he’s livid.  His lavender eyes are cool and steely, much like ice as he holds my eyes in place.

“It’s a sketch, Neji.  You’ve never seen one bef--”

Neji lunges forward and tackles me so hard and fast that I don’t even have time to react.  He pushes me down to the ground, pins my arms to my sides with his legs, and grips my shoulders.  The pain is dull, but it’s there; I wince at Neji’s roughness.

“Where did you get that?”  His face is so close to mine I can feel his breath

I yell back at him in surprise as I squirm, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Neji?  It’s just a sketch!”

“ _Just_ a sketch?” Neji shouts back at me, “That’s _just a sketch_ of my little cousin, you fucking sick bastard!”

I stop moving and my mind blanks.   _Cousin_?  A weird feeling gurgles in my stomach.  Of course he’d be pissed.  Neji is still glaring at me, his temper still flaring.  He tightens his grip on my shoulders.

“I didn’t sketch your cousin, Neji, I swear!  I didn’t even know she was even related to you!  I just got the sketch from a friend of mine!”

Neji narrows his eyes.  He probably doesn’t believe me.  He gets up off of me and grabs the sketch on my desk before ripping it into shreds.  I don’t argue, especially by the way he reacted.  I sit up and Neji gives me his hand to pull me up.

“I’m sorry,” I say, even though we both know I couldn’t have known.

Neji sighs, “It’s fine.  But you _are_ going to tell me who drew that, lest you wake up one morning without your balls.”

Though I feel terrible for giving Shikamaru away, I give Neji his number for fear of what he would -- and could -- do.  He frowns and leaves our room, slamming the door behind him in the process.

I swallow hard and send a warning text to Shikamaru.

 _‘You...might be getting a random call soon,’_ I text him.

_‘What?’_

_‘Apparently you sketched my roommate’s cousin. He saw the sketch and, well, you know. Got angry.’_

Shikamaru responds to me a good hour later with: _‘Wow, I was not expecting my ass to be handed to me like that.  We need to talk tomorrow.’_

Neji comes storming in, his temper still as tonic as before he left.

“I know it wasn’t your fault, but if I ever find another one of those... _sketches_ of my cousin, I’ll see to it personally that you wake up without your balls.”

I nod furiously, and Neji glares at me for a few moments longer before he grabs his things to shower.

oooOOooo

“Ah, what do I do now?” Shikamaru groans as we exit our late studio class, “Your fucking psycho roommate threatened to castrate me if I even thought about putting Hinata’s piece in my portfolio.  Said he’d find out where I live and destroy my place.”

I look down and shift my shoulder bag.  I know it’s all my fault, but Shikamaru hasn’t quite blamed me.  Yet.  He seems frustrated, though, rather than angry.

“I’m really sorry,” I say.  And I mean it.

Shikamaru stops in his steps and turns to me.  He glares at me and puts a hand in his pocket.

“If you’re so fucking sorry, then make up for it.”

I stand up straight and look right at him.  “I can pay for your gas for a week?  Or give you all of my art history notes.  Or--”

“Or,” he cuts in, “you pose for me and I’ll call it even.”

I feel strange at his idea.  Pose?  For him?  I almost think I misheard him.  But the strange look on my face gives away my confusion, and Shikamaru reiterates for me.  His eyes narrow and he seems to loom over me, despite the minute height advantage he has over me.

“Yeah, pose.  I want you to pose for me.  You’re going to replace Hinata.”

I ignore the possible double entendre and put my hands up in defense.  “I can’t say I’m really all that comfortable--”

“Like how I wasn’t _all that comfortable_ about letting you keep that sketch?” Shikamaru huffs as he walks off.

I sigh and let him walk off.  After a quick comb of fingers through my hair, I pull out a cigarette and light one up as quickly as I can.

He’s making it difficult for me, I think.

oooOOooo

I knock on the door in front of me.  It’s a bit unnerving, standing in front of Shikamaru’s place.

He hasn’t come to class for the past couple of days, not for studio, not for lecture.  I wonder if it’s all my fault, that he refuses to attend classes.

The door opens wide.  The person at the door isn’t Shikamaru, but is the very same girl that Neji called his cousin.  She’s nude, and she blushes a bit at me, as if she just realized she answered the door naked.

“Oh, you’re not--”

Her voice is light and airy, much like the comfort of a lullaby.  I become entranced by her eyes.  They are similar to Neji’s, but hers are much softer, more alluring.  And her curved body is very much alike to the sketch that Shikamaru did.  She looks soft, and I am tempted to reach out to touch her.  She steps to my left, hiding her nakedness behind the door as if she can hear my thoughts.

I feel my face heat up and I look down, a bit ashamed at my bold staring.  She _is_ an attractive woman, I admit.

“Um, I was wondering if Shikamaru was in, but I guess not...?”

The female shakes her head, suddenly becoming shy.  She cocks her head at me and gives me a small smile.

“I can tell him you came by.”

For a moment, I am offended.  This woman’s claim on Shikamaru’s apartment, like it’s her own, irks me.  She does not own that comfortable carpet in the living room or the beautiful art in the studio any more than I do.

But I know she does not have the intention of driving me away as I initially suspect.  She is more polite, and seemingly more fragile, than anyone I had ever met.  She is trying to be helpful.  I am simply overreacting, for reasons I do not know.

“Hinata, where are your clothes?  Didn’t I tell you to get dressed, in case someone came by?”

I turn around fast and see Shikamaru coming down the hall towards us.  He has a tote in hand, its bottom weighed down by irregularly-shaped things.  I suspect groceries, but that is just my assumption.

The female called Hinata squeaks and rushes back into the apartment without another word, most likely to hide and put her clothing back on.  Shikamaru sighs and stops in front of his door, near me.

“What are you doing here?”

His tone isn’t harsh nor curious.  He seems to be quite drained, as if he hadn’t slept well in quite a while.  I purse my lips and stand tall as I put my hands in my pockets.  I try to be discreet about my concern for him.

“Just checking to see what you were up to.  You haven’t been to class in a couple days.”

Shikamaru shrugs and steps into his apartment.  He gestures me in and I slip my shoes off after him.  Hinata emerges from the bedroom, dressed in an oversized T-shirt and what seems to be a pair of boxers.  She takes a seat on the couch and makes herself at home as she turns the television on.

He heads towards the kitchen and I follow.  As I suspect, the tote Shikamaru sets down on the counter contains various vegetables and a hunk of meat.  I wonder if he plans on having dinner with the woman on his couch.  But I think again, and I am alarmed at the realization.

“Shikamaru,” I say in a low voice, “you do realize that she’s Neji’s cousin, right?  The guy’s going to castrate you if he finds out she’s here!”

The other male begins to put the groceries away, as if he hadn’t heard a thing I said.  Or, at least, as if he didn’t really give two fucks about it.  I wave my arms at him, attempting to get his attention and get him to answer.  He glances over at me, but resumes putting the groceries away.

“I’ll take my chances.  I need this part of my portfolio done, and she’s the only one who’s willing to pose on such a short notice.  You didn’t seem to care about that, the last time I checked, so if you’ll show yourself out,” Shikamaru says as he shuts his fridge door.

He has me cornered, and he knows it.  I have no other choice, and Shikamaru made sure it would be that way.  Manipulative bastard.

“You’re a fucking prick, you know that?” I retort, “Fine, I’ll fucking pose for you.  Just--send Neji’s cousin home!  Now!”

Shikamaru walks out of the kitchen to dismiss Hinata, but not before giving me the smallest of smirks as he passes.

oooOOooo

I can’t help but feel absolute dread as I take my shirt off.  It’s the first article of clothing that Shikamaru tells me to remove, and I oblige.  I feel strange stripping in front of another person -- _a man, no less_.

“Your pants,” he instructs nonchalantly.

Of course Shikamaru is expressionless.  He sees me as another art figure to transpose onto paper, and nothing more, I’m sure.  I undo my belt buckle with a noisy clanking of metal and unzip my pants.  I step out of them and stand in front of Shikamaru with nothing on but my orange boxers.  Shikamaru scrunches his nose.

“Boxers too,” he says.

“Are you really that comfortable seeing _all_ of my body?” I ask him.

Shikamaru peeks out from behind his table-easel, his eyes narrowing a bit as he shoots right back at me, “Are you really that _uncomfortable_ with your body?  I can always call Hinata back; she’s pretty confident, especially for a _woman_.”

Rather than get into another argument and have Shikamaru call Neji’s cousin back, I close my eyes and chant a mental mantra.  I _can_ pose naked, for the sake of art.  Even if it means posing in front of a _man_.  I can and will let another man see my junk.

The boxers come off too, sliding down past my hips and down my thighs.  They pool at my ankles, and I shake them off before realizing I’m also shaking other unmentionable parts of my body, all for Shikamaru to see.

I stand still and wait for further instructions from Shikamaru.  However, he says nothing else.  I start to hear scratches from the pencil and the rubbing of skin against paper.  From time to time, he sticks his head out and looks at me for a long while before disappearing again.

After posing for about a half hour, Shikamaru calls to me, “You know, if you were just a bit taller and a bit more in shape, you could probably go into modeling.”

If that isn’t a surprising thing to hear out of nowhere, then I don’t know what is.  I feel my body warming, and I’m sure my face is starting to redden.  Why say that, of all things, when I’m naked?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, entirely unsure of how to react.

Shikamaru stands up and stretches his entire body, moving his arms, neck, and upper body this way and that.  He yawns, looks over to me and moves his gaze downward for a few moments before he yawns again.

“It means that I think you’re attractive,” he replies simply.

I have no idea what is going on in his mind, but I know by now that my body is completely flushed.  I stand there under Shikamaru’s keen gaze, which seems to hold me in place.  He stares at me for a few moments longer, then waves his hand at me.

“I’m done for now.  You can put your clothes back on.”

Without further delay, I pull my clothes back on hastily.  Whether Shikamaru is watching me or not, I don’t care.  When I am fully clothed, I walk out of the studio, grab my bag from the couch, and head for the door.

As I am about to shut the door behind me, Shikamaru uses his foot to bar the door and pulls me back by the shoulder.  I turn around clumsily and he tips my chin with a simple touch of his hand.  He presses his lips to mine, then darts a tongue into my mouth before pulling away.

My mind is blank.  I stare wide-eyed at Shikamaru and he simply smirks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He retreats into his apartment and shuts the door softly.  I am flabbergasted and unable to move.

And despite all that, he knows that I _will_ see him tomorrow.

oooOOooo

I’m posing nude again.  It’s been a few long hours since I arrived at Shikamaru’s, and he has yet to bring up the kiss from yesterday.  I know patience is a virtue, but I want to know what the fuck is going on between us.  I sigh and shift in my seat; Shikamaru has me posing on a chair today.

“What are you sighing about?” Shikamaru asks me, his form still behind the easel.

I say nothing and shift in my seat again.  I don’t think I can ever get that comfortable sitting on a chair naked.

Shikamaru presses me further, “You must be sighing about something.  Were you fantasizing about me?”

Whether he is joking or not, I can’t tell.  I remain silent and let my head fall back onto the back of the chair.  I won’t fall for his passive-aggressiveness.  He wants me to bring up the kiss and is trying to rouse me up to the task.

I hear his pencil drop to the table and the scuff of his chair as he gets up.  I close my eyes and listen to each footstep as Shikamaru nears me.  When I don’t show any signs of moving, he tangles his fingers in my hair and yanks my head up.  I open my eyes in surprise and his eyes bore into mine.

“Why are you being so uncooperative?” he asks me.

I try to bat his hand away but he doesn’t budge.  His fingers tighten their grip on my hair in response.  I look off to the side and avoid Shikamaru’s gaze.

“What, are you avoiding me now?”

I cross my arms and look up at him, his hand still in my hair.  “Like how you’re avoiding the fact that you fucking _kissed_ me yesterday?”

I’m more frustrated than angry, but I’m not sure he knows that.  Shikamaru continues to stare at me, then brings his face closer to mine.

“Is that what’s been bothering you?”

I curse him mentally; he knows exactly how to push my buttons and manipulate me.  I can feel his warm breath; it smells of cigarette, as usual.  Suddenly, I feel the urge to smoke.

“It’s not the kiss that’s bothering me,” I begin slowly, “I’m more concerned with what that kiss entailed.  What did it mean to you?”

Shikamaru cocks his head and the corners of his lips curve upward.  He shrugs.  That simple gesture is beginning to lose much of its meaning and effect on me.

“Do you want it to mean something to me?”

There it is again, his passive aggression.  I suddenly feel very naked (metaphorically speaking) and feel that Shikamaru can see right through me.  Any confidence I ever thought I had crumbles, and I find myself acting like a school girl confessing her feelings.

“N-no,” I stutter, “I mean, if it meant nothing to you, then that’s fine.  We can forget it ever happened and--”

Shikamaru interrupts me and moves his head forward, catching my lips in a rough kiss.  His tongue swipes over my bottom lip and I find myself holding a moan in.  I can feel my lower regions heat, and the distinctive feeling of an erection is starting to creep up on me.  He pulls back and his face is serious.

“Or you can put your clothes back on before I fuck you raw,” he rasps.

I am breathing heavily, I realize.  Before I can even nod my head, Shikamaru stands up tall and turns around to head back to his work station.  He grabs my clothes off the table and throws them at me.  They land on me and I gather them up in my arms.

I slowly get up from the chair, my legs weak, and head for the bathroom to change and take care of my now-apparent problem.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now here's some ShikaNaru action. If you don't like... then it's probably best you press that back button on your browser.

I look over to Shikamaru from the table he has me posing on. His eyes are fixated on me like a predator would to prey. I notice his eyes glance over, to where my cock is. He was never really discreet about things like that.

Shikamaru is silent for a few minutes -- I assume he is still sketching from behind his easel -- and then stands up from his seat. He walks over and eyes my body hungrily as he licks his dry lips.

“Whoa,” I say as I cross my legs and throw my hands over my dick, “what are you doing?”

He does not respond, but instead, jumps onto the table with me to restrain my _very naked_ body with his. My arms are down at my sides, being squeezed by Shikamaru’s legs. His hands are free, I notice. I squirm under Shikamaru’s light touch as he, as if curiously, traces over my bodily curves. His fingers feather over my shoulders, down my arms, my sides, then over my thighs.

“Shikamaru,” I whine as my breaths start to shallow, “stop teasing.”

He stops his exploration to smirk at me. I let out a whine as his fingers press into my thighs, getting closer and closer to my growing erection. My natural reaction is to shut my eyes, but Shikamaru cups my cheek in his hand..

“Let me see your eyes.”

It takes every fiber of my being to keep my eyes open. His gaze bores into mine as his hands continue to touch me everywhere.

And this is how our relationship has blossomed, so to speak. After we had kissed and (indirectly) established our feelings for one another, Shikamaru overstepped many boundaries that once existed. His touches became more and more intimate. But he always stopped short, just enough so that I would have to excuse myself and relieve my aching member in the bathroom.

Shikamaru seems to have the same plans as usual. His hands work on kneading my inner thighs, barely inches away from the middle of my legs. I inhale sharply as his fingers trail over my sac, but he does no more to alleviate my case of blue balls.

“I can’t,” I pant, unable to finish my sentence.

He teases me further and runs his fingers over me again. I arch up, trying with all my might to reach back into his touch. Shikamaru presses me back down onto the table with his hips. I can barely keep my gaze on him and stare up at the ceiling. He grabs my hair and pulls up so that our eyes meet.

The look in his eyes is ferocious. I can barely keep myself from whimpering as he tightens his grip on me.

“Touch yourself,” he orders.

When he lets go of my arms, my hands go nowhere. I feel too embarrassed to expose myself like that so casually. However, Shikamaru reaches down to my cock and squeezes hard. A strangled noise emerges from my throat.

I close my eyes -- which he allows me to do this time -- and start to run my hands over my chest. I rub my nipples, which I can feel are starting to perk up. With my breath shallowing, I proceed to move my hands downward at an agonizingly slow pace.

When I take a peek at Shikamaru, I see that his eyes are closed for the moment. He is sitting back and his hand is already slipped underneath the band of his pants, past his boxers. He is touching himself slowly, his breathing matching mine.

My hands move further and over my thighs. I give a firm squeeze of my inner thighs before I proceed towards my cock. Just as my hand grips around the familiar girth, Shikamaru holds my hand in place. He shoots me a wicked glare, as if he knows something I don’t.

“Be ready, Naruto,” Shikamaru whispers harshly in my ear, causing me to shiver in anticipation.

Shikamaru moves his body off mine and suddenly, his mouth engulfs my cock. A loud, reverberating moan escapes me and I try my hardest to keep quiet as his tongue moves expertly around me.

To my surprise, he moves his tongue downward, pressing his muscle between my balls. I’m moaning with no bounds now; they shake and rattle my chest, almost to the point where the vibrations are actually stimulating Shikamaru. He hums contently.

For a moment, he pauses, reaches into the drawer of the table we’re on and pulls out a tube of lubrication. I raise an eyebrow; what kind of artist keeps _that_ kind of lubrication in his studio? He uncaps it and squirts some on his fingers, rubbing them together to coat all he can.

A slick finger pushes almost immediately into my ass, and I yelp at the sudden, foreign intrusion. His finger pistons in and out of me with ease.

He slips in another finger and I arch my back off the table. The two fingers press against the walls of my ass, stretching me in preparation for something much larger.

“Oh my god,” I breathe.

He continues to stretch me, and I feel myself becoming more and more accustomed to the width. I start to push onto his fingers, just to feel that fullness in my ass. Shikamaru pulls his fingers out and stills my hips. He looks around for the lube, squirts some messily all over my ass, and pushes into me.

And that is when I press the back of my hand to my mouth. My eyes are shut tight and I strain my throat, attempting to keep as quiet as I can.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Shikamaru grunts as he pushes in an agonizingly slow pace.

I’m not even sure how to describe anal sex. In that respect, I am a complete and utter virgin. The girth of Shikamaru is stretching my ass to the point that I cannot bear it. My ass tightens, a natural defense of the body to push out whatever is intruding. In response, Shikamaru moans and slams into me harshly.

I half-moan and half-yell; I must admit I am a masochist. I must be, because no other person in their right mind would even think getting a pole shoved up his ass is a turn-on. But for me, I continue to stress my throat in pleasure and pain.

He thrusts erratically, sometimes moving faster, other times slower, until Shikamaru’s breathing is ragged and irregular. For some reason, he pauses. I can feel his cock throbbing, pulsating with fervor. My ass tightens with his pulsing.

“Look at me,” Shikamaru commands, “I want to see your beautiful face when I cum on it.”

I shift my gaze to him, and Shikamaru pulls out of me roughly. I let out a cry, and without further warning, Shikamaru ejaculates. RIbbons of semen shoot out from his slit, covering my face and chest.

“So fucking hot,” he moans as he rubs out the last of his orgasm.

With his hands still slick from his release, Shikamaru grabs my cock and pumps me with much enthusiasm. I twist and turn from pleasure, with a picture of his orgasm-face imprinted in my mind.

I grunt, then with a particularly rough handling of my cock, I orgasm as well. Most of the white fluid lands on me, but some stray droplets fall onto the tabletop.

Shikamaru is still looming over me, with his hand still wrapped around me. I jerk upwards a few more times, just to ride out the remnants of my orgasm. My body trembles and falls lax, and Shikamaru lets go of my softening cock.

I’m barely conscious of my surroundings. I barely notice Shikamaru hop off the table to stretch his body. I lie there, partially because Shikamaru has made such a mess of me and partially because I am still in shock.

After giving myself a few moments to recover, I sit up on the table. Shikamaru walks right back towards me with a look in his eye. It’s a look I can’t quite pinpoint; he is inspired, perhaps.

He pushes me back down to lie flat on the table and takes my earlobe in his mouth. His hot breath on my neck makes me shiver.

“Stay. I want to paint you.”

His eyes bore into me, and I cannot help but remain still. Shikamaru walks back to his easel and remains standing as he paints. I can see him from his shoulders and upward; the lust in his eyes by the way he gazes darkly, in his mouth by the way he runs his tongue over his lips -- these are presented for me to see.

And again, I can feel my cock start to harden.

oooOOooo

“I hear he’s a virgin bandit.”

I turn my head towards my roommate’s side of the room and give him a strange look.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Neji?” I ask him, “And what the fuck is a virgin bandit?”

Neji is sitting quietly at his desk, staring down at the textbook in front of him. He seems to be studying, but his eyes are scanning the entire page. I’m lying on my bed and roll onto my side to stare at him in curiosity.

“Your fellow...artist,” Neji begins, not looking up from his place, “he gets some sick thrill of sleeping with virgins. No single person he’s slept with has been experienced.”

I sit up and lean back, using my elbows for support as I look up at the ceiling. This is the first I’ve heard of anything scandalous involving Shikamaru, but I’m not one for believing rumors right off the bat. But it doesn’t sound completely unbelieveable.

“Have you been stalking him, Neji?” I ask him.

“No,” he replies rather calmly, “I’ve been doing some research on him, however. Believe me or not, I don’t particularly care. I just want him to stay the fuck away from Hinata. So the next time you see that fucker, tell him I’m onto him.”

I assure Neji that I will -- so nicely -- deliver the message for him. As I allow my body to fall comfortably on my bed again, I wonder if the rumors are true.

Because if they are, I was just another free virgin fuck to him.

 _Fuck_.

oooOOooo

I am on my way to studio class. It is just a short walk over from my dorm to the studio itself, and in more recent times I find myself heading over later and later. In comparison to my usual half-an-hour earliness, I am now half an hour late.

When I arrive to class, however, I do not enter a quiet room like I normally do. No. This time, I enter under a reign of chaos. People are huddled all around Shikamaru’s station. Two things throw me off: my fellow classmates have gotten up from their seats and Shikamaru has beaten me to class.

As I move closer to Shikamaru, I notice that his easel -- which is normally _very_ empty -- now holds quite a large canvas. A canvas, with a very, very, _very_ , naked portrait of **me.** My pose is provocative, with one hand gripping around my cock and the other pushing fingers into my mouth. And as if the position I’m depicted in is not enough, my body on the canvas is covered in splotches of white liquid.

I am in shock. Complete and utter shock. I stand there stupidly, gaping at the scene in front of me.

“You,” the girl I know as Tayuya gasps as she spots me, “this is... Can _you_ pose for _me_ next?”

The huddle of people all turn to me simultaneously, and suddenly, I start to feel quite flushed. Some of them whisper things behind their hands, while others just stare wide-eyed at me.

I don’t know how I should react. So in all of my anxiety and nervousness, I push through some people and grip Shikamaru’s shoulder tightly. He turns to me. I can feel my hand start to shake, but whether from anxiety or fury, I don’t know.

“Talk. Outside. _Now_.”

I can’t seem to formulate anything coherent past one word commands. As Shikamaru gets up, I dig my fingertips into his arm and drag him out of the room. We flurry past a couple of people walking down the hall, even bumping into our studio professor who is on his way to the classroom, no doubt.

“I hope you brought in something to work on today, Shikamaru,” he says in passing, “The evaluator coming in today won’t appreciate a student of mine slacking off during studio.”

I don’t even give the brunette a chance to answer back. I push through the doors that lead outside and we end up on the side of the building. When I let go of Shikamaru, he just sighs and walks over to lean against the wall.

“ _What the fuck do you think you’re doing?_ ” I seethe as I start to pace.

I’ve forgotten my cigarettes in the studio. Apparently, I dropped my bag at some point between pushing through my classmates and dragging Shikamaru out of the room. Of all times I need a cigarette to calm my nerves, it’s now. I wring my hands together and run my tongue over my bottom lip.

“I don’t see why you dragged me out here, Naruto,” Shikamaru drawls as he pulls a cigarette carton from his pocket.

I am still pacing, but I stare at Shikamaru hard as he calmly cradles a cigarette between his lips. With a flick of his thumb, the stick is lit and he takes a long drag before letting out the smoke.

I stop in my tracks and glare. “You can look me in the eyes and tell me that the canvas you brought in **_isn’t_** a problem?”

He stares at me blankly and releases yet another puff of smoke. I grab the cigarette straight from his mouth, inhale deeply into it myself, and throw it on the ground.

“You’re fucking nuts,” I say to him, “I’m -- you’re -- Neji warned me about you.”

“I am an artist. You should know that I’m not mentally sound,” Shikamaru replies as he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms in front of his chest, “But I _am_ curious about what you heard about me. Your roommate _has_ to be a credible source for all the latest scandals on Shikamaru Nara.”

The sarcasm dripping from his voice irks me. I stomp on the cigarette I just threw on the ground and glare at the smashed remnants of the stick. When I look back up at Shikamaru, his eyes have grown dark, his gaze fixated on me.

“To you, I’m just another fuck,” I tell him, as if he hadn’t already known, “You were just going to take advantage of me so you could exploit it. That explains your _piece of work_ in the studio. In the end, you were going to drop me for some other poor, virgin sap.”

My heart is racing, and I feel empowered against Shikamaru’s charms. His dark gaze is still on me, and I am completely unfazed by the ferocity in his stare. We both stand up straight and size one another up; I can see that he is just as ready to get into a fist fight as I am.

I take the first swing, my right arm flying towards his head. Shikamaru shoots his left arm up to block my punch. I throw my left arm at him and we get into a full-out brawl.

I’m not sure who’s winning, but undoubtedly, we’ve landed hits on one another. At one point, Shikamaru flips me and effectively pins me to the ground, holding my wrists down. I squirm under him and kick my legs.

“ **Stop it!** ” he yells in my face.

Surprised, I stop moving. Shikamaru is breathing hard, as am I, and his hair that’s usually done-up in a ponytail is now loose. I can see a bruise under his eye starting to form. He is glaring hard at me, but his look softens as he sighs.

“You’ve got it all wrong, Naruto,” he tells me, “The painting I brought with me -- I didn’t bring it to humiliate you. I don’t want to exploit you like that.”

“Then what is it?” I snap immediately, “All the other people you slept with -- they were all virgins, weren’t they? What is it about virgins, Shikamaru, that turns you on? Tell me that.”

Shikamaru scrunches his face, as if he had just eaten something rather bitter. He furrows his eyebrows and frowns heavily. I stare up at him silently, waiting for his answer.

But he never gives it to me. He gets off me and, with a now pained expression on his face, Shikamaru puts his hands in his pockets and heads back inside.

It takes me a moment or two to realize that I am now free to move. I get up, slowly, and realize that my body is aching. And then my nose starts to bleed.

“Great,” I say to myself as I cover my nose with my hand, “Just what I needed.”

I head inside and head towards the bathroom. I wait out the rest of my nosebleed and let the blood flow freely into the sink until it slows. When I barely have a nosebleed anymore, I grab a bundle of toilet paper and head back into the studio.

The studio is quiet, save for a few scratches and scuffles here and there. My classmates are sitting at their respective stations, but Shikamaru is nowhere to be seen. His station is completely empty, and the painting is gone.

“Naruto, are you all right?”

My professor comes over and hands me another tissue which I graciously accept.

“Yeah, I’m okay. This nosebleed won’t stop, though,” I sigh.

“Perhaps today would be a good day to call in sick,” my professor suggests, “You’d be better off visiting the health center if it won’t stop.”

I nod and take my professor’s suggestion. I’m starting to feel kind of shitty anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where Sasuke makes a brief appearance and takes Naruto out on a mini date. But of course... it doesn't go anywhere since Naruto is meant for Shika in this fic. :)

I stare hard at the blank canvas in front of me, trying to keep from looking over to Shikamaru’s station.  He is currently sitting there with an empty easel, looking all smug and staring at nothing.  Even after I took a break and smoked through three cigarettes, I still can’t shake this irritation I feel.

Eventually, my stronghold dissipates and I glance over at Shikamaru.  Just looking at him reignites my temper.  His eyes are on me, but he quickly looks away as if I was Medusa.

I turn back to my canvas, my hand reaching for the warm red oil paint tube.  With deft movements, I squirt some paint onto my palette, grab the first paintbrush I see, and smear the hot color all across the white expanse.

For the rest of the class, I paint in sharp movements and vibrant, warm colors.  When my professor calls out to start finishing up, I realize that I have only covered a little less than half the canvas.

I start to bring my supplies up to the sinks for rinsing.  As the last of the paints wash away, my professor puts a hand on my shoulder.  I look up towards him and he gives me some knowing look with his eyes, the bottom half of his mouth still covered with a paint mask.  He says nothing and moves on quickly.  I almost wonder if I just hallucinated that.

When I return to my station, Shikamaru is sitting on my seat.  His eyes are glued to my canvas, and he jumps when I slam my damp supplies onto my table.

“ _What_?” I ask him.

Shikamaru gives me a sour look as he responds, “Can we talk?”

I look around the room and notice that a good majority of the class is looking over at us.  Some look as if they are holding their breaths.

“Whatever,” I say flatly as I reach over for my bag and leave the room.

As I hurry down the hallway, I can hear rapid footsteps behind me.  Shikamaru catches up and keeps my pace as I head out the front doors.

“You’re not going to stop to talk to me?”  
  


“Nope.”

“Can you at least slow down a little?”

“No chance in hell.”

“Do you _really_ believe all those stupid rumors of me?” he asks.

I continue to walk towards my dorm, not even looking over at him.

“Yes and no.”

“Damn it, can I get a proper answer, Naruto?  Was it that bad, what I did?” he asks me in exasperation.

“ _Yes_ , it was bad,” I fume as my temper warms, “Why can’t you think of how I feel about that -- that _painting_ of me?!  You humiliated me, Shikamaru.  I wouldn’t mind a simple nude portrait, but that was really low of you.  How would you feel if _I_ fucked you and painted you in your most vulnerable moment to show to the world?”

I turn to Shikamaru only when we stop in front of my building.  His eyes focus onto me, and we barely register the fact that Neji walks right past us into the building.

Shikamaru says simply, with much conviction, “I’d be flattered.”

I take a sharp inhale of breath through my nose and slap him hard across the face.  Shikamaru’s head turns with the force of the hit, and he furrows his eyebrows as his hand comes up to nurse his cheek.

I hate the idea of slapping someone.  It’s a weak thing to do, especially when I can just as easily curl my hand up into a fist and knock his head that way.  But I didn’t even give myself time to think it through.

“You’re a fucking smart ass, you know that?  I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.” Then I add as I walk away, “Oh, and if you _ever_ bring another one of those portraits of me in public again, I’ll make sure you never paint again.”

And with my hot temper still flaring, I storm into my building.

oooOOooo

Neji is already sitting at his desk, reading his textbook, when I stomp into the room.  He doesn’t even have to look up to know that I’m fuming.  I throw my bag down by my desk and hop onto my bed.

“I did warn you, you know.”

“Shut up, Neji,” I reply bitterly as I lie down, “I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now.”

He looks up from his book to the ceiling as he replies, “I’m just saying, Naruto.  I knew he was no good.  It was just a matter of time before he fucked you over -- literally and figuratively.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I growl as I turn to lie on my side, facing the wall.

I don’t want to admit that Neji is right, so I don’t -- at least, not directly to him.

oooOOooo

“I would like each one of you to visit an art museum and pick an art work.  Feel free to choose any piece that pertains to what we’ve covered in class.  Take plenty of notes when you go; I expect a ten-page paper to be handed in a week from now.  And to make sure you all go to a museum, I will also require a ticket stub with your paper.”

The class groans audibly, but our professor pays no mind as he dismisses us.  I slouch in my seat as the rest of my class starts to pack up to leave.  The closest art museum is just a bus ride over, but having to go there by myself -- well, the idea of it sucks.

I wait for the others to leave, and I don’t even bother turning to the back of the room to see if Shikamaru is in class.  He is not worth any of my time anymore.  When the room empties, the professor starts packing up.  However, he notices me and pauses.

“Naruto!  I didn’t know you were still taking my class.  How are you?”

I smile at his friendliness and at the familiarity of his non-lecturing voice.  I know the art history professor rather well, since I used to come by during his office hours every week.  But lately -- mostly due to Shikamaru -- I haven’t had the time to stop by.

“I’d never abandon you, Iruka,” I assure him with a smile, ”I’m doing well, but I’m sorry about being AWOL lately.  I’ve been studying and helping out a classmate with his portfolio, so--”

My professor shakes his head and smiles.  He walks over and sits down in the seat next to me.

“I’m not mad at you, Naruto.  You say you’ve been studying?  With your friend, right?  Does he happen to be in this class?”

I don’t want to have to correct Iruka about my friendship with Shikamaru, so I just let it go for the time being.  We can be “friends” in title, I figure.  When I nod, he puts a hand to his chin and strokes the small, rough patch of stubble.  He hums some knowing tone.

“I’m not failing, am I?” I ask him in curiosity, though I’m confident my professor could and would never actually be happy about me failing.

He smiles again.  “Not at all.  Your friend is helping you a great deal, Naruto.  Your grades have improved in the class, you know.  And I’m glad you’re helping your friend put together his portfolio.  It’s better to put that time to something useful than keeping an old man company.”

“But Professor,” I almost whine, “you’re not an old man.  And I always enjoy visiting you.  I should make more of an effort to come by.”

Iruka shakes his head.  “No, it’s all right.  Besides, I’m very glad you’re making such an effort to study.  I didn’t want to fail a favorite student!  But let’s keep that part about you being my favorite student between you and me.”

Iruka is not the kind of man to say just anything.  Every word he says, nagging or not, means a great deal.  I know that my professor favors me, but to hear it from him personally gives me a good feeling.  I give him a real, wide, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Iruka.  I’ll keep trying my best.”

“I hope so.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another class to teach in fifteen minutes.  And don’t forget about the paper I assigned; you may be my favorite student, but that gives you no excuse to slack off in my class.”

I nod, then salute him in an almost-mocking-but-endearing manner.  As I leave the room, my professor calls out after me.

“Oh, and I’d suggest keeping that friend of yours around.  He’s a good influence on you, I think.”

I keep myself from scoffing as I give one last wave and leave the room.

oooOOooo

I barely remember how overwhelmingly large the art museum is.  As I navigate my way through the seemingly-endless maze of paintings, sculptures, and textiles, nothing seems to catch my eye.  I decide that it would probably be best to head towards the Impressionist works -- if I can find it, that is.

The museum is packed, partially because it is a weekend, and partially because it is raining outside.  Tourists love staying indoors, looking at paintings and sculptures they will probably forget later.

I move past the crowd looking at an adorned vase lined in gold leaf.  At a corner, I spot a security guard who directs me to the Impressionism section.

After some weaving in and out of the crowds of people taking their time through the museum, I sigh in relief when I start to recognize the Monets and Cezannes hanging on the walls.

“Oi, Naruto.”

I turn and see Tayuya and Sasuke from my studio class.  I hold back the urge to cringe; they both saw that portrait Shikamaru had painted of me.

“Oh, hi,” I greet plainly.

I’m not sure whether to wait up for them or just walk away right then.  However, before I can even make up my mind, Tayuya engages me in more conversation.

“You’re here for that art history paper too?”

I nod; I can still walk away and keep my dignity intact if I leave now.  Before I can move, Tayuya nods her head in thought and a bright expression adorns her face in some sort of mini epiphany.

“Let’s look around together, then!  I’ve been meaning to take a look at the Baroque collection they have here...”

“No thanks,” I cut in immediately, shifting my stance to allow myself a quick escape, “I’ve already looked around and decided on Monet.  Maybe next time.”

It’s not that I dislike either Tayuya or Sasuke; I just don’t want to be cornered and interrogated on my relationship with Shikamaru.  That kind of thing is bound to happen, especially after they had a rather good look at my private parts on his canvas.

Tayuya pouts and grabs ahold of Sasuke’s upper arm, “Then let’s go, Sasuke.”

Sasuke shakes his arm loose of her grip and replies, “I think I’m going to stay here as well.  Sisley caught my eye.”

The female red-head scrunches her nose in dissatisfaction.  She crosses her arms in front of her chest and pouts again.

“Fine.  I’ll make my way around myself.  Call me when you’re done, Sasuke.”

Tayuya stomps off, receiving several glares from fellow museum-goers and security guards.  I sigh in relief, enough for Sasuke to notice.  However, he seems to ignore me and walks slowly towards the paintings.  I reluctantly follow suit.

We stare at the painting carefully hung on the beige wall.  I recognize it as a Monet; upon further inspection, I discover that the title of the work is “Camille Monet on her deathbed”.  Straightening back up, I purse my lips and cross my arms.

Sasuke stares at the painting passively.  He turns to me and sees my distaste so we move on to the next painting wordlessly.

The next one that we look at is a Sisley, as Sasuke informs me.  Its title is “Molesey Weir”.

“This is one of my favorites,” Sasuke tells me simply.  
  


I stare at the painting in curiosity.  The main composition of the work is done in an almost monotonous palette of colors; I can see a lot of grey scattered throughout.  When I look back at Sasuke, I can see his eyes are trained onto the canvas, scanning the piece in all its glory.

“Why?” I ask him, “It’s a bit grey for my liking.”

Sasuke stares for a bit longer, then turns to me.  The smallest of smiles presses the corners of his lips upward in a subtle, amused expression.

“I suppose so.  Look here,” Sasuke says as he points towards the sky of the painting, “Can you see how beautifully he’s mixed the different hues?  You say it’s a lot of grey, but can you see how many colors there really are, just in the sky alone?”

I look over the painting once more, this time with more intent on capturing the colors in the top-half of the canvas.   I squint a bit, but still see a lot of grey.  As if on cue, we both press forward, just short of setting the silent alarm off.

And then I see them.  The colors in the sky begin to disintegrate and become their own.  I am mesmerized by the amount of blending Alfred Sisley has done in his work.  The realization and separation of colors was almost an adventure on its own, an endeavor for my eyes.

We both stand up tall and step away from the painting as a security guard comes over to check up on us.

“That was amazing,” I breathe out as we move on to the next piece.

Sasuke smiles at my response.  His cheeks shape and the corners of his eyes curve upward.  I feel my heart thump at his pretty expression.

He’s pretty.

“I think I got enough information for my paper,” Sasuke says as he stretches his arms in front of him, “I know enough about Sisley on my own anyway.”

“Yeah, me too,” I nod.

He grins and puts his hands in his pockets.  “Then want to grab a coffee or something?”

My heart flutters this time.  This pretty male, who I’ve rarely spoken to, asked me to have coffee with him.  And he’s a fellow artist with passion.  It _would_ be nice to talk to someone.  But then I think back a little.

“Sure, but what about Tayuya?”

“What about her?”

oooOOooo

“I just don’t see how it’s appropriate for an artist to paint something like that.  I mean, if they feel like painting their dying wife, fuck, I won’t stop them.  But I just don’t think it’s right.  She’s dying, and you’re busy _painting_ her?”

Sasuke, with his hands still wrapped around his coffee cup, shrugs nonchalantly in response to my complaint about Monet’s portrait of his dying wife, Camille.

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it seem, Naruto,” he replies, “You’re not looking at it from his perspective.”

I frown and push my coffee cup towards the middle of the small table by the store front window.  I cross my arms and shake my head, refusing to accept what Sasuke is trying to say.

We sit there in silence.  I continue to pout and stare out the window, spotting the art museum just a few buildings away, across the street.

“Why do _you_ create art, Naruto?”

My head snaps back towards Sasuke.  His head is cocked slightly to the left, his expression somewhat curious and confused.

“What do you mean?  I make art because I’m somewhat good at it, and I like doing it,” I respond, losing my already-thinned patience.

His eyebrows furrow and he straightens his posture, staring down at his cup before taking another sip.  As he puts his cup back down, Sasuke sighs and rests his chin in the palm of his right hand, his elbow resting on the table.

“How do you create art?  I mean, how do you come up with an idea?  A concept?”

This line of questioning is confusing me.  I growl in annoyance and push my seat back, getting ready to up and leave.

“I get inspired, then go with an idea and run with it.  Why are you asking me these weird questions?”

Sasuke makes no move to stop me as I get up from my seat.  When I realize he hasn’t moved an inch, I stare down at him hard.  Surprisingly, he stares right back up at me, his poise as intact as ever.

“And this inspiration -- you have a sort of emotion linked to it, don’t you?  Like back in studio the other day, when you started to paint that fiery mess on your canvas.  You were angry.  Furious.  Were you not?”

I cross my arms over my chest and reply, frustrated, “ _Yes,_ I was angry.  What are you trying to get at?”

“Well, I was trying to explain something new to you, but since you’re in such a hurry to leave...”

Harrumphing, I sit back down in my seat and push myself in towards the table.  This guy sure has a way with persuasion.

When he says nothing, I move my arms a little, gesturing him to move on with it.

“Who were you painting that canvas for, Naruto?  Think hard, now.”

I reply immediately without thought, “I didn’t paint it for anyone.  I was angry, so I painted what I felt like.”

Sasuke nods a bit, tilting his head forward gently.  It seems he is approving of how our conversation is going.

“So that painting is something you created … for your own sake, right?”

I hesitate.  “I suppose.  I didn’t make it for someone else -- OH.”

A realization hits me at that moment.  Sasuke looks at me, and he seems expectant of something.  I furrow my eyebrows and look out the window, trying to wrap my head around everything.

I turn back to Sasuke and reply, “Shikamaru painted that portrait of me for himself.  He never meant any harm in it, did he?”

Sasuke’s expression changes to pure curiosity.

“I was talking about Monet’s piece, but I suppose that reasoning would work in your situation too.”

oooOOooo

I don’t care that it’s late.  All I can think about is getting to Shikamaru’s place and apologizing as soon as possible.

When I get to his building, I call his cell phone.

_“Hello?”_

I can hear the surprise in his voice; he probably didn’t expect to receive a call from me so randomly.  But my heart and pulse race as I hear his familiar voice.

“I’m outside your building.  Can you come down and let me in?”

_“Uh, I don’t know--”_

“Oh, never mind.  Someone’s opening the door.  I’ll be right up.”

I hang up as a middle-aged man approaches the door from the inside and holds it open for me before leaving the building himself.  I thank him and rush for the stairs, letting my blood course through me furiously.

I travel up three flights of stairs, onto the fourth floor.  When I push the stairwell door and step into the carpeted hallway, I spot Shikamaru standing outside his door awkwardly.

“Shikamaru!” I shout, nearly forgetting that it’s a Sunday night.

Without even thinking, I head right for him and wrap my arms around him, pressing my face into his neck.  Shikamaru tenses; I let go and take a step back, my face getting hot.

He looks just the same as I last saw him, except for his slightly fat lip.  I assume, guiltily, that it was from me hitting him.  He’s frowning slightly.

“I thought you were going to hit me again,” he says humorlessly.

I shake my head and look down at his chest.  A churning feeling gurgles in my gut; I’m afraid I don’t have the chutzpah to look him in the eye.

But I realize, from the little distance between us, that I’ve missed him.

I’ve missed him so horribly, even despite what he did to me.

“Want to come in?” Shikamaru asks me reluctantly as he pushes his door open.  
  
He knows I won’t refuse.  As I step into his once-familiar apartment, Shikamaru places his hand on my ass and gently ushers me in.

He knew I _couldn’t_ refuse.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some make-up ShikaNaru sex in this chapter, as well as the ending of the story. I _might_ rewrite the ending since I was initially in a rush to get it done. But I don't think it does Shika's and Naru's relationship justice. There's so much more between them, even with Shika's selfishness. Soooo... we'll see.

“And now I don’t know what to do.  I’ve tried apologizing, but he hasn’t given me a second thought.  It’s driving me crazy!  What should I do?”

Asuma sits back in his seat, smoking his cigarette silently as he watches me from the corner of his eye.  He looks away and flicks the ashy end of his stick before exhaling a puff of smoke.

“I had a lover once.”

I perk up at this and stare at my mentor, waiting for him to elaborate.  He’s never been keen on sharing his personal history when I’d ask, so I pay good attention to anything that’ll offer me even a little bit of insight on this man.

“She was a model for our drawing class a couple times; had a nice body and all, so naturally I was attracted to her.  Went on some dates, and we hit off pretty well.”

He stops to take a long drag from his cigarette and throws the rest onto the concrete steps below us.

“So what went wrong?”

Asuma sighs and presses the heel of his palm into his right eye, trying to suppress a pain in his head.  He’s frowning, and I realize that we’ve gone into some pretty heavy stuff for him to recall.

“I stopped creating.  Instead of spending my time painting, I spent all of my extra time with her.  By the time I realized what was happening, a year had already passed,” he says while fiddling with his fingers, “And the time it took me to get back into art, that was wasted too.”

He sits with his elbows propped on his knees, his body hunched and leaning forward as he stares at the ground.  I sit back and rest my head at the top of the steps.

There is another round of silence between us.  Some unknown force gives me the courage to say something stupid, to prove to my mentor that I may not be the “genius” that he knew years ago.

“But I love him,” I say.

Asuma sighs, brings out another cigarette, and takes an especially long drag from it.  He says nothing more as he stands up and walks off, without even turning back to say goodbye.

I continue to sit on the front steps of my building, staring up at the darkening sky.  By the time I sit up, Asuma is already gone.

oooOOooo

Some odd hours have already passed when I decide to go back inside.  I take the stairs slowly up to my floor, letting my feet thump heavily on each carpeted step.

I can hear my cellphone ringing from inside my apartment when I near my door, so I move a bit faster to unlock it and get inside.  When I read the I.D. on the front screen, I pause.

Naruto?  Why is he calling?

“Hello?”  I try to keep my surprise down to a minimum, but my hands and voice are shaking.

_“I’m outside your building.  Can you come down and let me in?”_

“Uh, I don’t know--”  I respond immediately, nearly smacking my face from my own stupidity.   _Of course_ I would be willing to let him in.

But he doesn’t even give me a chance to properly answer as I hear, _“Oh, never mind.  Someone’s opening the door.  I’ll be right up.”_

And then he hangs up.

My mind and heart race, and I rush to the bathroom to make sure I’m at least somewhat presentable.  I had stayed in all day, not bothering to change out of what I had slept in.

I run out into the hall afterwards, standing up tall and maintaining my composure.  Within a minute, Naruto comes barreling through the stairwell door.

“Shikamaru!” he yells.

The idiot probably forgot that I have neighbors.  I nearly cringe at the volume of his voice but am given no time to react when he throws himself onto me.  As a natural reaction, my body freezes -- from nerves, I think.  He lets me go and takes a step or two back before surveying me.  I take the opportunity to do the same.

He’s the same-old blond who has the same-old blue eyes.  And he’s the same-old gorgeous man I’ve captured in so many paintings and sketches.  My heart wrenches, leaving me feeling absolutely worthless in comparison to him.

When I become conscious of myself, I realize that I’m frowning from the never-ending thinking process that’s going on in my mind.

“I thought you were going to hit me again,” I say to break the silence.

Of all things I could say, I say that.  My lip pulses from the overflow of blood there; I recall then that Naruto gave me no mercy when he hit me.

But Naruto seems to notice my stern look, shakes his head, and moves his gaze from my face.  I need to say something.  I need to keep him here, somehow.

“Want to come in?” I say after a moment or two.

I push my door open and let Naruto step through the threshold.  As I follow him in, I can’t help but give him a push to move faster...on his ass.

oooOOooo

My elbows and knees dig into the soft mattress as Shikamaru pushes the tip of his slick cock into me.  I press my face into the mattress, grabbing fistfuls of blanket as my ass stretches to accommodate him.  I hold my breath as the familiar pain washes over me, a fire raging in my lungs.

As Shikamaru gently thrusts his hips, my ass envelops the rest of his throbbing cock.  We remain still, our muscles spasming from pleasure.

“Oh god,” I exhale with a shaky breath, “Oh god, Shikamaru--”

He pulls himself out of my asshole, his shaft gliding out smoothly until the tip.  We moan simultaneously as Shikamaru pushes into me again, the tightness of my ass never loosening.

I don’t know how much longer we go at it like this.  A small scream rips through my throat with every thrust.

Shikamaru lifts my right leg and perches it on his shoulder as he bends over to close the gap between our bodies.  He continues to thrust into me with no bounds, his movements becoming animalistic and erratic.  With the top half of my body twisted on the mattress, I muffle all vocal noise into his bedding.

Shikamaru growls and grabs the hairs on the back of my head, pulling me back sharply as I moan loudly.

“You like it when I’m rough?” he breathes lowly into my neck, “I bet you love it when I fuck you in the ass like this.”

His dirty talk arouses me even more than I already am.  I can feel my cock twitch at his hot, breathy voice.

At a particularly hard thrust, he twists my body a little and pushes deep into my ass.  I moan even louder than before and feel my ass tighten around his cock.

My fingers wrap around my own cock, and I start pumping myself with fervor.  Before long, Shikamaru starts to moan, his deep rumbling shaking even me down to the bone.

Shikamaru pistons in and out of me faster.  The friction in my ass renders me helpless and at the mercy of the thick cock constantly stretching my ring of muscles.

Angled just right, the tip of his cock presses onto my prostate once again, sending me over the edge as I come all over the sheets below us.  I can feel Shikamaru’s cock stiffen and balls retract before he shoots his load into my ass.  His throbbing, softening cock slides right out of me, and my entire, sensitive body shudders at the slickness.

We fall onto the bed into a crumpled mess; I lie on my stomach, right on top of the dirtied sheets, while Shikamaru takes his place on the bit of clean sheet left.

I can barely catch my breath, but I can say that my ass feels absolutely wonderful.  On the other hand, Shikamaru looks completely fine, as if our sexual bout barely made him break a sweat.

Silence falls between us, sans my heavy breathing.

The sexual tension was almost impalpable when I had entered Shikamaru’s apartment; we went at it so fast, we didn’t even give ourselves time to talk about our relationship.

Before I can even bring up the topic, I discover that Shikamaru’s eyes are closed and his breathing is even; without my knowledge, he had fallen asleep.

I muse to myself as I glance over at him:  at the very least, even if our relationship goes to shits, I’ll have had one more round of sex with Shikamaru.  It’s a consolation prize, I guess.

oooOOooo

“I’m sorry about what I did,” Shikamaru says simply as he watches me poke at my breakfast, “I never meant to hurt you.”

I know he isn’t talking about the rough sex we had last night.  We stare hard into one another’s eyes and it seems as if everything has slowed to a near halt.  I put my fork down and cross my arms on the table, half-hugging myself as I slouch in my seat.

“I know it wasn’t your intention to hurt me, but you did.”

My tone was neither bitter nor angry.  It was just the simple truth.

I sigh and grab my pack of cigarettes on the table.  Shikamaru understands and immediately follows me to the balcony.

I lean on the railing outside and take a large inhale.  The air smells heavy and wet after the heavy rain that came through last night.

Opening the pack, I take out a stick and offer one to Shikamaru.

“Your lucky stick?”

I peer into the box, and sure enough, the remaining, upside-down cigarette is staring straight at me.  Without a thought, I hold the box to him again.

“Take the fucking stick, Shikamaru.”

He shrugs his shoulders and takes it gingerly between his index finger and thumb.  I offer him a light, and soon, we’re both leaning on the rail, smoking in silence.

I’ve smoked through mine completely by the time Shikamaru finishes the last of his stick.  He flicks the butt onto the wet floor, not even bothering to stomp it out, and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Naruto, I’m leaving,” he says randomly, though his voice is even and calm.

“What?  Leaving?  What do you mean?” I say dumbly, barely giving myself time to comprehend what he’s saying.

Shikamaru sighs and stands there with his back slouched terribly.  I have the urge to tell him to straighten up, but my brain is still attempting to wrap around his simple, yet vague, declaration.

“Kakashi -- his course evaluator that came by the other day, he happened to see the portrait I painted of you.  I met up with him and...well, he’s interested in commissioning me.  He says he wants me to paint a huge mural in his penthouse.  In New York City.”

New York?  That wasn’t a commuting distance from where we were.  That only meant one thing.

“Then why?” I ask as my eyes start to water, “Why would you sleep with me and then tell me something like this?  Do you think I’m some kind of ‘fuck and go’ type of person?”

He furrows his eyebrows and frowns heavily as he crosses his arms over his chest again -- a defensive stance.  My heart begins to palpitate with adrenaline and nerves.  Before I even know it, my cheeks are wet with tears.

I’m an emotional mess, I know.

Shikamaru grabs my shoulders roughly and, with shaking hands, holds me at arm’s length.

“Why do you keep accusing me of things?  You never even give me a chance to explain!” he says in desperation.

He releases me and takes the spot furthest from me on the balcony.  Shikamaru shakes his head, looks me dead in the eyes, and says, “But honestly, I don’t want to be all the way in New York.  Not without you.”

A silence falls between us, and I feel my face warm from embarrassment.

“Wh-what?” I stammer dumbly in reply, “You don’t mean for me to go with you, do you?”

I wait for him to shrug, say “I’m just kidding,” and move on.  But the look on Shikamaru’s face is serious.  His eyes are lit with a sort of energy -- passion, perhaps.  Or something completely different -- I’m not quite sure.

“Yes.  After we graduate next month, we’ll move to New York.  We can rent an apartment together, maybe even a studio nearby.  We’ll live in the city and create art.”

I nearly laugh in his face, nearly brush off his offer to up and leave everything.  But I don’t.  Shikamaru was never as serious as he is now.

My mind works furiously as I select the right words to say, the words that will hurt the least.

“Shikamaru,” I say, my tone so grave it takes me by surprise, “there’s no doubt that we like each other, but I don’t know if I can do it, moving to New York.  And we barely even know each other.  It’s not enough to just know each other’s favorite sex position.”

Silence again.  The lack of noise is deafening, I start to hear myself breathing.  I start to hear Shikamaru’s breathing as well, which is well out of sync with mine.  But I am so conscious of our breathing patterns that I start to time mine to match with his.  It’s such a conscious, but unconscious, thing that I cannot seem to control.

But he is the first to speak.  Shikamaru, with a pained expression on his face, bites his bottom lip and looks off to the side.

“Even if we don’t know much about each other, I know that I love you, Naruto.  Against all that my mentor ever taught me, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

 _I love you_.  What a dangerous combination of words.  It’s ammunition for Shikamaru, for him to use them against me and keep me in this trap that I swear he had set up from the beginning.

He got me good.

“What are you saying, Shikamaru?  Didn’t you hear what I just said?  We hardly know each other,” I say, in an attempt to clear his head, to make him take it all back.

I don’t want to hear his love for me.  I barely know him.   _I don’t love him back_.  I can’t -- not as easily as he has of me.

But I can’t bring myself to reject him.

“Please,” he says, as if he’s just asking me a simple favor, “come with me to New York.”

My eyes start to water again.  I wipe them away angrily, but more come.  I can’t help myself and start to cry with no restraint.

“It’s not fair,” I cry out as my tears roll down my face, over my cheeks and onto my lips, “I can’t just say no.  Fuck you, Shikamaru.”

oooOOooo

I pop my head out from the back room when the desk bell rings.  Wiping my paint-covered hands on my apron, I step up behind the cash register and put on a fake smile.

“How can I help you?”

The woman -- who just so happens to be a regular customer -- crosses her arms at me and scowls.

“Took long enough to get some service.”

“I’m sorry.  I was in the back--”

“Yeah, whatever.  Just give me a tube each of cedar red, honey yellow, and ocean blue.  And don’t think about giving me the testers.  Last time I got a tube that wasn’t filled like usual.”

I turn around to reach for the requested paint tubes, but not before letting out a long, heavy sigh.  I put the three tubes into a paper bag and ring them up.

“That’ll be $20.89,” I say robotic-like.

She hands me a crisp twenty dollar bill and grabs the paper bag.  When I try to stop her for the insufficient amount of money, she snaps at me.

“Take the rest out of your paycheck.  And don’t be so slow next time.”

Before I can even stop her, the woman stomps out of the empty store.  There’s not even a witness to her misbehavior.

I sigh again, reach into my pocket, and throw in a dollar bill into the register.

When I step into the back room again, I feel my shoulders and heart lighten.  The canvas sitting on the easel stares straight back at me, with its concentrated, deep colors of blues and purples.  I’m not sure what I’m painting, and these days it seems as if I’m more likely to create abstract things.

I pick up my paintbrush, which is sitting in oil paint.  However, before I can even put a dot on the canvas, I hear the shop bell ring again.

“Hello, how may I help you--” I say just as I step out of the back room.

My words fade into silence as I take a moment to fully recognize my studio professor, Kakashi.  He has a paint mask on, as always, and his hair is just as gray as I last remember two years ago.

“Ah, Naruto.  I should have expected to see you in New York, but I didn’t think you’d be working in a place like this.  Though, where else better to work, eh?”

I smile, though it’s more of an automatic reaction.  These days, I haven’t really been smiling.

“Yeah, I guess.  So I assume you’re in town for Shikamaru’s exhibit, right?  The opening night is in a few hours, you know,” I tell him.

“I should be saying the same thing,” Kakashi replies, “When do you get off work?”  
  
“In a half hour, or when my boss gets here -- whichever comes first.”

“Okay, good.  I’ll see you at the exhibit then, Naruto.”

Kakashi waves goodbye as he walks out of the shop.  I wave back until he’s out of sight.

Just another half hour to go.

oooOOooo

I fidget in my dress suit, the too-smooth material caressing my skin a little too intimately and the cuffs of my dress shirt scratching at my wrists.  Looking at myself in the mirror, I admit to myself that I look relatively handsome -- at least, relative to how I normally dress.

“Come on, Naruto, you’re going to make me late,” Shikamaru yells from the living room.

My temper flares, so I yell back at him that I’m just finishing up.  With one last ruffle of my hair, I step out of the bathroom and see Shikamaru sitting on the cushy loveseat that we moved from his old apartment.

He smiles and stands up when he sees me donned in my best dress.  I scrunch my nose at him when he gives me a peck on the lips.

“Took you long enough,” Shikamaru says.

I cross my arms over my chest and pout, “Not my fault I have a scheduled job.”

It was partially true; because Shikamaru works solely on a per-art-piece salary (and his -- apparently -- rich parents cut him off as soon as he graduated), money can sometimes get a little tight.  I had no luck in finding any sort of full-time job that would allow me to take randomly scheduled time off when Shikamaru got commissioned work.  He said I was needed for “moral support” when he would stay up into the late hours of the night working on his next greatest piece.  So I took a part-time job at the local art supply store, just so we wouldn’t have to worry during the days art didn’t sell.

But that left me little time to work on my own art -- just the time in the art shop’s back room, during the slower hours.

It’s a selfless thing for me to do, and a selfish thing for him to do.

But what can I do?

“Let’s go,” I say quietly, though Shikamaru doesn’t seem to catch my gloomy mood.


End file.
